Wanton Widows: Three Short Regency Romps

by Isabella Hargreaves

“Hello,” called Jerome as he strode into his brother’s room. “You’ve found the albums, I see,” he said pointing at the books under Jeremy’s arm.

  Arabella and Jeremy nodded simultaneously.

  Jerome seemed oblivious to the tension twanging between her and Jeremy. “And now you’ve returned, I’m sure we will all get on well. I have missed your company, Jeremy.”

  “Now you have a beautiful wife, you won’t need me under your feet.” Jeremy smiled fleetingly. “I shall find lodgings as soon as possible.” He held Arabella’s eyes with his direct gaze.

  “No, no, you mustn’t leave.” Jerome said to his brother, then turned to Arabella. “My brother and I were inseparable until this latest trip. Usually we share every experience. You won’t mind if he continues to live here, with us, will you?” His look was expectant of her agreement.

  Before she could answer, Jeremy said, “That must change now. I must leave.”

  “No, you must not. I wouldn’t like that at all.” Jerome looked adamant.

  “You must also consider what your wife would like, and I’m sure she would prefer to live alone with you.”

  “But, I’m sure you’ll come to love Arabella too. And she, you.” Jerome smiled benignly at them both.

  Arabella gasped in shock. Did Jerome realise what he had said?

  “I don’t doubt that will happen.” Jeremy gave a tight smile, looking into Arabella’s eyes.

  Jerome nodded, a look of satisfaction on his face. “Good, good. That would be splendid. Just like our parents and Uncle Sebastian.” He turned to Arabella. “He lived with us all our childhood. This was his room. When he passed away our parents were devastated.”

  The brothers exchanged a long look of what? Recollection? Understanding?

  She remembered last night’s satisfying encounters with each of them as both tender and fulfilling. She yearned for more. Perhaps she wouldn’t need to choose between them after all?

  Wooing the Wealthy Widow

  By Isabella Hargreaves

  The Viscountess Helena Tremoyne sat at her table eating a late breakfast and reading the morning broadsheets. Her butler interrupted her, his voice betraying distaste although his face did not. “A Sir Hercules Standfast wishes to speak with you on an ‘important personal matter’.”

  She sighed and refolded The Gazette. “Another fortune-hunter, Sims?” she asked the grey-haired man.

  “Quite likely, your ladyship. Shall I send him away?”

  “No. I will see him and, if he looks presentable, initiate the usual selection process.”

  The butler smiled briefly before reforming his face into its usual impassive mien.

  “Show him into the library please. I’ll be there shortly.”

  He left to do her bidding. Helena rose from the table with a sigh and hurried to her bedchamber to check her appearance.

  Ten minutes later she opened the study door to see her potential suitor. He was not pacing the room wearing holes in her Aubusson rug, not staring out the window at the garden in the square opposite, and not fidgeting with snuff box or any of the other adornments with which men of his rank bedecked themselves.

  Instead, her suitor, brown-haired, tanned and slim, was seated facing the window with a book open in his hand. He was so engrossed in its contents that he didn’t notice her arrival.

  She went to stand behind him to read over his shoulder – Tristram and Isolde – in Italian. She was surprised by his taste, but then poverty could engulf even the educated. “Sir Hercules Standfast?” She spoke quietly.

  He swivelled his head to look at her, closed the book and rose to his feet in a fluid series of motions. A lock of his wavy hair fell across his brow as he stood to reveal his impressive build.

  He bowed. “Lady Helena Tremoyne.”

  “Have we met previously?”

  “We met once a number of years ago when you first came out. Perhaps you do not remember me, but we were introduced by your father.” His eyebrow was raised in gentle enquiry, revealing a hint of disappointment.

  Surely she would remember such a good-looking man? “Forgive me for not recalling our previous acquaintance. How may I assist you today?”

  “Lady Helena, I have come with a proposal.”

  “For a business venture?” She acted intentionally obtuse.

  “No – of marriage, your ladyship.”

  “But we have just established we are barely acquainted. How can you propose marriage?”

  “It’s for that very reason that I believe we should marry.”

  What?

  She must have looked askance at him because he explained, “Marriage is a great journey through life, during which two people come to know each other intimately. The difficulty, I believe, is that when people marry knowing each other well already, they ruin the journey. Whereas, if we were to marry knowing nothing about each other, then we would have our whole lives to discover the other person.” He seemed perfectly serious in his belief.

  “I take the opposite view, I’m afraid, Sir Hercules. I believe that people marry before knowing the right things about each other.” However, his was an intriguing argument. One she had not heard before from any of the army of fortune-hunters who had pursued her wealth and proclaimed a great love for her.

  She made a spur-of-the-moment decision – not something she did often – and decided to assess his suitability, although she knew nothing about him.

  He looked about to argue their differing viewpoints so she forestalled him. “You haven’t yet proposed to me,” she reminded him.

  “Would you consider me if I did? If not, I won’t take that honour upon myself.” He gave a cheeky smile.

  Intriguing though he was, she kept her manner sombre. “Should you propose, I will take your offer seriously and give you a considered answer after we have gotten to know each other better.”

  “In that case…” He dropped to one knee in front of her and taking her hand in his said, “Lady Helena Tremoyne, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?” He smiled in his beguiling way.

  This time, she couldn’t help but return his smile. “As soon as I have made my decision, I will inform you, but it may take a week or two. Now we must get to know each other and to achieve that there are some social events to which I would like you to accompany me.”

  “I am at your disposal, Lady Helena.” He flashed another charming smile.

  “Good. Do you have a carriage?”

  “No.”

  “Never mind, I have two. This afternoon you will accompany me in my landau for the circuit around Hyde Park, at the fashionable hour.”

  “I will?” He looked bemused.

  “You shall. Please arrive promptly.” She held the door open for him. “Goodbye for now.”

  At Hyde Park, Helena found herself sharing her carriage with a popular man. Although he hadn’t been an acquaintance of hers, he appeared to be one of almost everyone else in the park – many of them his relations – although he was an only child of an only child. It was a far different outcome from that achieved by many of her former suitors. They had been shunned for being outright fortune-hunters.

  An hour later they escaped the crush of vehicles. “Gunter’s, please,” Helena called to her driver.

  One notable suitor had accompanied her there only to leave shortly afterwards, complaining that anywhere that was a venue for the nursery set was not one for him. Helena had waved him on his way and remained to enjoy her ice, unconcerned by the large number of children being indulged by their kith and kin.

  Sir Hercules escorted her into the well-known café, smiling to the left and right at paramours, parents, nursemaids and children alike. He seated her, then ate his ice with finesse and patiently waited as she savoured hers.

  Helena said, “Tomorrow, you will take me to the British Museum. I particularly want to see the new Asante artefacts.”

  “I will be delighted. I know the head curator, so perhaps you would like a tour of the back rooms where t
he pieces too fragile for display, are kept?” he asked matter-of-factly.

  She would enjoy that.

  Another suitor, Lord Nicholas Fothergill, had taken half a dozen steps inside the museum and hastily reversed, claiming a prior engagement. That had given Helena many hours of enjoyment amongst the exhibitions, without any distraction from an uninterested companion, but Lord Fothergill had joined the “Failed Suitors’ List”.

  Needless-to-say, her visit to the British Museum with Sir Hercules was an outstanding success. From his extensive travels, he had first-hand knowledge of the places from which many items had arisen, and was an entertaining guide.

  The following afternoon they visited the Tower of London and its zoo. Sir Hercules earned her undying admiration for resisting the urge, which Earl Tamar had not, to run his walking stick along the bars of the lions’ cage, causing anxiety and mayhem for the animals.

  In the afternoon, Helena took Sir Hercules shopping with her on Bond Street. The outing was usually a particularly taxing one for her suitors. She had returned from the fitting room of Madame Couturière’s to find Lord Snodgrove touching up Madame’s assistant. He also had joined “The List”. Sir Hercules not only politely ignored the serving staff, but actively assisted her in the selection of dress designs for her new ball gowns. He remained in the running.

  “A picnic is a wonderful thing when the weather holds good,” Helena said during the short journey to her Grosvenor Square residence.

  “It is indeed. Are we to take one?” His voice showed polite curiosity.

  “Tomorrow at Richmond.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I look forward to showing you the lovely river walk.” He assisted her from the carriage and kissed her hand by way of farewell.

  “And I look forward to taking it.” She caught herself daydreaming about walking arm-in-arm with Sir Hercules beside the river.

  The day dawned fine, but clouds scudded across the sky threatening rain, as the carriage took them towards the park.

  They picnicked beside the river, watching swans glide across the Thames. Sir Hercules stood and leant down to offer her his hand. Helena placed her fingers in his grasp, and a tell-tale flicker of attraction set her heart beating faster. Could this be the day that Sir Hercules stopped behaving with perfect propriety and made some sort of advance, like her other suitors?

  They walked along the riverbank until the first fat drops of rain splattered on them. Sir Hercules took her hand and they dashed for the tree line on the ridge above. He pulled her, panting, amongst the trees, where the rain was lighter. The shelter of a full-leaved oak tree gave a feeling of seclusion. Perhaps now he would kiss her?

  “Allow me,” he said, holding out his folded handkerchief. He dabbed the raindrops from her face.

  She swayed closer. He pocketed the damp handkerchief and offered her his arm. Oooh! He was ever the gentleman! With her hopes unfulfilled, they hurried to the carriage. The picnic blanket and the lunch had been packed away by the footmen. So, damp from the rain they hastened into the carriage, to sit side-by-side regaining their breath.

  As the vehicle set forth, Helena gave her usual direction, as though to a servant. “Dinner and a ball at Lord Lacey’s home tomorrow.”

  “Would I care to accompany you? Yes, thank you, Lady Helena, it would be an honour.” His tone was light but firm.

  She gave him a long look. Was his enthusiasm for marriage to her flagging already? “There is no compulsion that you should accompany me, except your desire to marry my money.” She was testing him after all, and wanted to see what he would put up with for the prize. But suddenly she realised how disappointed she would be if he failed.

  “Even if I were to be so lucky, I would want to like you. Being ordered around does not assist that.”

  “Sir Hercules.” Such a silly name. “Do you know how many men have sought to marry me for my money? You couldn’t, because I have lost count. Be grateful that I didn’t dismiss your proposal immediately. So far you have been a good companion, but you may falter on the next few tests.”

  “I am being tested?”

  “Of course you are! Isn’t that what courtship is?”

  He paused as if to consider her question. “I suppose so.”

  “Although you want my money from the marriage, I want companionship. This is my only way of finding out if it is possible. My future happiness depends upon this tenuous method of finding a companion. If I appear abrupt, it is because that is part of my selection process.”

  He took her hand in his and kissed it, looking up at her. “I see. Then I shall be delighted to accompany you to Lord Lacey’s dinner and ball.”

  You’re a good actor. I could do much worse. “You behave like a gentleman at all times, not like the Viscount Lovelace, who took the opportunity of our picnic to try to seduce me. My footmen had to rescue me from his advances.” She shuddered at the memory and Sir Hercules took her hand again and patted it gently.

  Sir Hercules dressed with his usual good taste for Lord Lacey’s event … and looked marvellous. She received some envious looks from the other ladies when they all assembled before dinner. He gave them little attention, instead focusing on her. She watched him closely during the dinner. He didn’t slurp his soup or eat off his knife like Lord Swindon, so she relaxed her fears. To his dinner companions, herself and Lady Travener, he was entertaining.

  At the ball that followed he solicited two dance sets, writing his name in bold letters on her card for the waltz and dinner dance. Then, with her permission, he sought other dancing partners and spent the evening twirling his way through set after set. She did the same, while keeping him under scrutiny.

  The waltz was announced and he appeared promptly at her side. “My dance, I believe, Lady Helena?”

  She set her hand on his strong forearm and proceeded to the dance floor.

  “Tomorrow, I think we should go to the opera,” he said.

  “My thoughts entirely. I have a box organised.”

  “Do you indeed?” He spun her around the floor in his warm embrace, making her feel she was the centre of his universe.

  At supper he fetched a plate of dainty pastries and a glass of ratafia for her. She remembered Mr Basingthwaite, who had imbibed too much wine and spilt the glass he fetched her all over her gown. That put him on the “The List” also. Sir Hercules appeared as sober as a clergyman, although she knew he had drunk wine with his dinner.

  He accompanied her home and kissed her chastely on the forehead before walking off down the street. Would he ever try to take any liberties with her? She was torn between wanting that to happen and knowing it would mean his disqualification as a suitor.

  At the opera the next evening he sat attentive throughout the long strident performance. Such a contrast to Baron Farthington, who had fallen asleep before the end of the first act and had snored so loudly that the theatre manager had arrived to ask them to leave! Sir Hercules even conducted a knowledgeable conversion about the opera and its composer, and related his past visits to the opera houses of Italy.

  At the door to her house he again kissed her hand and bid her goodnight.

  Helena said, “I ride in Hyde Park each morning. Would you care to join me tomorrow morning … this morning? Seven o’clock?

  “I would be delighted.” He smiled and touched his tall hat in salute before striding down the street.

  He arrived promptly on a tall black mount that looked well-groomed. It must have been borrowed from a friend, because it certainly wasn’t a hired hack. He rode well and made no complaint about her cantering ahead of him when they first arrived. An hour later, their faces flushed from the exertion and their horses exercised, they rode home in time for Lady Helena’s breakfast.

  “Join me for a meal and the newspapers?” she said.

  He readily agreed and they shared a lively debate on the effects of regulated corn prices. An hour later, Helena closed The Times and announced, “Tonight we go to Vauxhall Gardens.”

&nb
sp; “Do we?” A corner of his mouth twitched upwards.

  “Would you please escort me? I have a desire to see the fireworks again. It is a very long time since I’ve visited there.”

  “If you so desire, my lady. Have any of your other suitors taken you to Vauxhall Gardens?”

  “Just one.”

  “His name?” Some emotion … could it be jealousy? … flickered across his face.

  Jealousy would be re-assuring. She couldn’t help but smile and answer cheekily. “Confidentiality must be maintained, Sir Hercules.”

  They shared an enjoyable meal in one of the private boxes then strolled the gardens. Sir Hercules did not take her down the narrow paths that led to secluded spots where gentlemen were want to take liberties with their companions. Instead he kept them on the main paths and, when the fireworks were expected, ensured she had the best position for their viewing.

  In fact, he was the epitome of a gentleman and she was beginning to become frustrated with him on that hand, although grateful that he did repeat the bad behaviour of Major Nash, who had passed all the previous tests and she had thought would sail through the last, only to have him steer her into a dimly-lit grove and attempt to seduce her.

  Her footman, whom she had brought for her protection, had been very much needed. Major Nash had turned rather nasty when he was sent on his way. It was a salient lesson that her tests for suitors could be fallible, but reassuring that the final test had fulfilled its purpose.

  At the conclusion of the evening, in the early hours of the morning, Sir Hercules helped Helena from the carriage and escorted her to the front door. She turned to him and said, “You have passed my twelve tasks.”

  He smiled. “So you will accept my marriage proposal?”

  “No-one has passed before.”

  A crinkle of amusement appeared around his eyes. “That is obvious, because you aren’t married. When is the wedding?”

  “I have one more test of our compatibility.”

  “Name it! A journey to Brighton? An ascension in a hot air balloon? A day at the races?”